


Go Home, Girl

by Gayeld



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 16:37:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21377203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayeld/pseuds/Gayeld
Summary: Based on a Tumblr prompt of Onefail-At-ATime's:An AU where the Lord of Light brings the Hound back from the dead so he can call Arya out on how she ran away from her feelings for Gendry.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 37
Kudos: 128





	Go Home, Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OneFail_AtATime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneFail_AtATime/gifts), [the_truth_is_in_the_tooth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_truth_is_in_the_tooth/gifts).

> There are other things I should be writing. I know that, I promise. I didn't mean to do this. I meant to be a smart-ass and throw a couple hundred words at this before trying to get someone else to write it. I was seduced. And I know this all too easy and there are things that should be better discussed, but fuck it.
> 
> I'm going back to those other things I'm supposed to be writing now.
> 
> Or maybe that serial killer thing. 
> 
> And possibly that second epilogue that JenRK wants. 
> 
> Thank you to my lovely beta, RoziCanuti and JenRK for keeping me from pulling my hair out and trashing the epilogue altogether. All errors are mine.

Arya chalks the churning in her gut up to nerves as she watches the last of the supplies loaded onto her ship. They’ll be stopping in Lys within the fortnight to pick-up more, but this will tide them by until they make port, without putting an undo strain on King’s Landing’s limited resources.

One more night in this hellhole of a city. Just one more and she’s free. Free to explore, free to see what lies beyond the Sunset Sea, free to leave everyone and everything she loves behind. Just one more night.

She’s halfway up the gangplank when she hears the first screams. People are moving fast, dodging out of the way of a large hooded figure that’s stalking down the wharf, making steady progress toward Arya and her ship.

She rests a hand on the comfortable weight of Needle on her hip and watches as the figure draws closer and closer. He’s almost to the end of the pier when someone, either too drunk or too stupid to know better, steps into his path and asks “Where you think you’re going?”

An angry bark and a fist to the face is the only reply and barely slows the man. 

Arya watches it all with a familiar sense of dread, until he’s finally standing at the end of her gangplank.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Sandor?” Arya stares in shock. She’d seen his corpse, laid out on one of the hundreds of funeral pyres that had been built after the dragon queen’s rampage had left too many corpses to safely bury. “You’re dead. I saw you. How-?”

“One of those Red Cunts. Found my body, _unburned,_” he snorts derisively, “after the fires burned down and decided it meant their cunt God wasn’t done with me yet and brought me back to this shithole of a city.”

“That was weeks ago,” Arya’s still staring at him in disbelief. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you come and find me?”

“I was trying to find a way out of this shithole.” He scowls at her. “Didn’t expect you to be stupid enough to still be here.”

“Where else would I be?”

“Anywhere but here. Off with that twat Smith turned Lord of yours,” he growls, narrowing his eyes at her. “Instead I hear from your latest King of a brother that you’re getting ready to fuck off the edge of the world.”

“He’s not my Smith or my Lord or anything. He’s just a-”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” He scowls over her shoulder at one of her crew. “What are you looking at?”

Arya continues to stare at him and wonders if this is a nightmare or if her head wounds are finally catching up with her.

“Get your stuff.” Sandor barks at her.

“My stuff?” She shakes her head. “It’s on the ship, we’re sailing in the morning.”

“The ship may be sailing, but you’re not.” He wraps his hand around her arm, surprisingly gentle, and starts to lead her down the gangplank. “You’re going to go find your Smith.”

“I told you, he’s not mine!” Arya tries to pull away from him, but for all that it’s gentle, Sandor’s grip is unrelenting as he pulls her back down to the pier.

“Tell that bullshit to someone who didn’t have to listen to you every night after Dondarrion and his mad Red Priest sold the boy to that Fire Bitch.” People scurry out the way as Sandor takes her further and further away from her ship. “Thoros, Beric Dondarrion, The Red Woman. Night after fucking night I had to listen to that. You think I don’t know what that twat means to you?”

“I can’t!” Arya finally wrenches her arm free and steps away from him. “Gendry’s a Lord now. He deserves a proper Lady, not-”

“Not a killer?” Sandor asks, grabbing a hold of her arm again and continuing down the wharf. “Maybe, but we both know what he wants is you. Aye, you’re a killer, but you’re also a survivor, and we both know that twat Lord of yours is going to get himself killed without someone to watch his back.”

“Don’t say that,” but her protests sound weak even to her own ears. “Gendry will be good Lord. He’ll make sure the people are taken care of.”

“He probably will, and how many of those Highborn fucks will want him dead for it?” 

The sick feeling returns as Sandor’s words start to sink in, but she still can’t bring herself to accept them. “He just needs the right wife, a proper Lady from the Stormlands, who will-”

“FUCK PROPER!” Sandor shakes her arm and turns her to look him in the eye. “We both know that he doesn’t want to marry some proper little songbird and you sure as fuck don’t want that. You really think a _proper_ lady will be able to protect him? And what about your twat King of a brother? You going to fuck off the edge of the world and trust Tryion Lannister and Lord Fuckwat of the Blackwater to watch over him?”

“He doesn’t want me, not after-”

“Now you’re just being stupid.” He looks around at the crowd gathered around them and scowls. “Any of these yours?”

Arya nods at two of her crewmembers that are standing at the end of the wharf, looking torn between helping their Captain and making a run for it. “Codd, Waters.”

Sandor’s scowl deepens. “You two, get back to that ship and tell whoever’s in command of it without her to send her shit up to the Red Keep and then set sail for White Harbor. Now!” The two men jump and start to edge around him. “Tell that fat sack of shit Manderly it’s a present for the Queen in the North.”

“That’s my ship,” Arya protests weakly.

“Aye, and who paid for it?” Sandor continues to pull her along, barely shortening his stride as they start to weave their way through the ruins of King’s Landing.

“I did.”

“Right. With whose money?” 

“Walder Frey’s.” 

This brings him up short and he turns to stare at her for a moment. “Thought that might have been you.”

They’re quiet after that, Sandor towing her through the broken streets of King’s Landing as her panic grows, until they’re finally at the gates of the ruined Red Keep. 

“Halt!” 

Arya breathes a sigh of relief as the guards block the crumbled gateway. She just needs a moment to get Sandor to stop and listen to her. He knows her, he knows who and what she is, a killer. Not a lady. Not a wife or some day a mother. A killer.

“You get out of the way,” he snaps at the guard before turning on her. “And you stop thinking.”

The guard ignores him, drawing his sword and stepping up to Sandor. “I don’t know who you think you are, but the Keep is closed and the King isn’t receiving guests.”

“I’m Sandor bloody Clegane, and this,” he pulls her forward, “is your King’s bloody sister. He’ll see us. Now get out of the way, you stupid cunt.”

Arya can see the guard’s eyes narrow as he looks from Sandor to Arya and back again. She rests her hand on Needles grip and for a wild moment hopes the guard does something stupid. Anything to stop this disaster Sandor’s pulling her closer and closer to.

“I heard the Hound was dead.”

“I was. Now I’m not.”

“Don’t call him that!” She nearly as surprised as the guard when the words come out of her mouth.

“Princess Arya?” 

“Don’t call her that,” Sandor growls as he pushes past the guards. “Where’s the whinger at?”

“Whinger, Ser?” The second guard finally finds his tongue and it’s on the tip of Arya’s to tell the guards not to call Sandor that either, but she mutters a quiet, “Lord Baratheon” instead.

“Stupid twat, black hair, looks like that fat fuck of a King that screwed every whore in King’s Landing.”

The guards exchange a glance before the first one speaks up. “The King sent word that if anyone were to come looking for Lord Baratheon, we should let them in and send them to the small council room.”

“Oh, the King told you that, did he? Come on, girl.” Sandor starts to guide her through the ruins of the Keep, neither of them acknowledging the last time they were there. 

“Sandor, I know where the small council room is. I can find it myself.” Arya twists out of his grip again and starts in the opposite direction, but a hand closes over the top of her cloak before she gets two steps and hauls her back.

“I trusted you to find that blacksmith of yours before, didn’t I?” His grip is unrelenting as they continue moving around the rumble. “You decided to fuck off the edge of the world instead.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Then what the fuck were you doing?” He turns back and glares at her. “Running away? How long did you spend trying to claw your way back to your family? Now you’re just going to fuck off to die alone at sea? I told you to go home. It may not be Winterfell anymore, but it sure as fuck isn’t across the Sunset Sea. It’s wherever that stupid twat you’re in love with is.”

“I’m not in love with-”

“You can lie to that twat all you want. You can even lie to yourself. But don’t lie to me and think I’ll believe it.” He pounds on the door in front of them and the raised voices filtering through it fall into silence. 

“Sandor, please,” Arya begs, her stomach turning. “He’s better off without me. He doesn’t want to see me, not after what happened at Winterfell. You’re making a mistake.”

Sandor ignores her, pounding again on the door, and Arya almost gives into the urge to kick him in the shin and make a run for it. But the door opens before she decides where it would hurt him the most and then it’s too late. 

“The fuck you doing here?” Bran’s new Master of Coin barely glances at her before scowling up at Sandor, but she can feel the rest of the eyes in the room on her. “Thought you were dead.”

“Was. Now I’m not.” 

For a moment she feels eight-years old again, being unfairly dragged in front of her parents by Septa Mordane for some petty breach of etiquette, but then she sees Gendry’s shocked face and the feeling fades.

_“Arya.”_

“You found her.” Bran stares calmly over her head at Sandor.

“Of course, I found her. You told me right the fuck where her ship was.” Sandor finally let’s go of her cape and gives her a small push further into the room. “Now, what do you want to do with her?”

“Do with me?” Arya turns angrily toward her brother. “You sent him after me? Why? I just saw you twelve hours ago. What’s so bloody important now that you couldn’t tell me then?”

“You wouldn’t have heard it from me. It had to come from him,” Bran replies evenly. 

She doesn’t look at Gendry again, afraid of what she’ll see in his face, but she can feel him edging closer to her. “So what is it that you think I needed to hear?”

“Enough with this bullshit,” Sandor takes her by the shoulders and turns her toward Gendry and she’s sees a flash of blue before looking down, “Stop being a coward and stop running away from this shit. And don’t you let her fuck this up anymore!”   
She can see Gendry start from the corner her eye, before he asks. “Arya, what’s going on?”

“Perhaps we should leave.” Tyrion Lannister slides behind Gendry, prodding his sellsword lord in front of him.

“Yes, I think that’s the wise thing to do.” Ser Davos smiles nervously at her before turning to Gendry, “Come see me later, lad, we can finish up that discussion.”

Gendry finally looks away from her to frown at Davos and shake his head. “There’s nothing left to talk about. I’ve said my piece.”

“Bet I can guess why he’s not so keen to marry some Storm Lord’s fat daught-”

“Enough, Bronn, let’s go before the Bringer of Dawn decides to use the dagger she killed the Night King with on you.” Tyrion Lannister is all but dragging his friend from the room now.

“Are you sure she killed him? Tiny little thing, she is,” Bronn’s looking her up and down when she turns to glare at him. “How’d she even managed to reach him?”

“I suggest we leave before she shows us how.” 

“Ser Davos, you should stay,” Bran adds calmly. “There are some arrangements that will need to be made.”

“Arrangements, Your Grace?”

“Lord Rodrick Harlaw will be arriving late in the day tomorrow.” Bran looks at her again and she could almost swear she sees a hint of a smile on his face. “He’s bringing complete copies of Elissa Farman’s diaries with him. Including the records of what she discovered in Faros.”

“Faros?”

Bran is still watching her when he answers Ser Davos. “It’s what lies West of Westeros. Although, I believe the people who live there call it Tiwi.”

“What are you talking about, Bran? No one know what lies across the Sunset Sea. Elissa Farman’s ships-”

“-crossed the Sunset Sea, explored the continent they found there and then continued on until they reached the far side of Essos. The Greyjoys and the Harlaws have known this for over a century,” Bran continues. “They first hid the knowledge because the Targaryens were searching for Lady Elissa, but over time the records were lost. Except to a select few.”

“That doesn’t explain why you sent Sandor to stop me.”

“You would not have survived the journey.” Bran’s expression makes her uncomfortable, reminding her for a moment of times she’d disappointed their father. “Neither of you would have.”

“What does that mean?” Gendry asks angrily, sliding up next to her and griping her arm as he steps in front of her.

“People seldom think about the consequences when they think they’re about to die.” The hint of a smile is back as Bran looks from her to Gendry and back again. “Or in the first few days after they survive, when they’re just happy to be alive.” 

“What the fuck’s that mean?” She can feel Sandor looming over her to glare at Bran. “Everyone knows what these two were up to. What’s that got to do with her dying at sea?”

“Everyone knows?” Ser Davos is looking between the two of them as a blush creeps up Gendry’s cheeks. “For fuck’s sake, Gendry, she’s Jon’s little sister.”

“It’s not-I didn’t-I knew _her_ first.” He looks to her for help and she can’t help laughing despite the seriousness of the situation.

“Who gives a fuck who knew who first or how,” Sandor glowers at Gendry before turning back to Bran. “Answer the fucking question.”

Arya can feel everyone’s attention turn toward her and Gendry leans in closer to her, his hand sliding down her arm to take her hand in his. 

“You’re going to need to find a good midwife. One who knows how to handle difficult births.” Bran stares at her for a long moment as the pieces connect and she starts to shake her head. 

“No, that’s not right. You’re mistaken, Bran.” Her stomach lurches and it’s all she can do to keep from putting a lie to her own words. “You must have seen Sansa or-”

“I’m not so lost in the memories that I can’t tell the difference between my sisters,” his voice is level, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that any other time would make her heart leap with joy. 

“Fucking hells!” She can hear Sandor stomping out of the room, but she still can’t look away from Bran as she tries to will away his words.

“Where are you going, Clegane?”

“To find a bloody Septon!”

That snaps Arya out of her shock and she turns to stop him. “A Septon? What do we need a Septon for? I’m not getting married!”

“Yes, you are! And you,” he jabs a finger at Gendry, “don’t even think about leaving this room.” He’s gone with the slam of a door that shakes plaster from the already unsteady walls.

“Lord Davos, I think a room with a view of the ocean would be best for Lord Harlaw.”

“I-Yes, of course, Your Grace.” Ser Davos moves to take the handles of Bran’s chair. “Perhaps we should go and see what we can find.”

And like that, she’s alone in the room with Gendry and no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry-”

“I didn’t mean it like-” Gendry sighs softly and pulls her closer. “We need to talk.” 

She leans into him for a brief moment before nodding. “We do.”

“And you should sit down.” 

Arya can’t help snorting as she pulls away from him. “I don’t need to sit down.”

“I heard what your brother said.” He takes her hand again, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.. "A midwife that’s good with difficult births, Arya. I know what that means. So, please, just _sit_ down.”

She nods and follows him over to the nearest chairs. “Sorry, I think I’ve just forgotten how to listen to anyone else.”

He snorts softly as he sits across from her. “When have you ever?” Gendry just stares at her, gathering his thoughts as he takes in the new scars on her face, before reaching up to cup her cheek. “Arya, you don’t have to do this. Any of it. It’s not too late for us to find someone to take care of it.”

“You don’t want it?” She doesn’t understand the protectiveness that suddenly flares up inside of her. She’s only known she was pregnant for all of five minutes, but she’s already angry on the baby’s behalf. “Well, you do not have to be part of-”

“I don’t want something to happen to you,” he takes a deep breath and takes her hands in his. “Arya, I meant what I said. None of this is worth anything without you. I’ve hated these last three moons. Knowing I fucked everything up and I’d probably never see you again.”

“You didn’t. Fuck everything up, I mean. I should have told you-I thought-” She can’t look at him when she says this. She doesn’t want to see the disappointment in those clear blue eyes. “I thought I’d be dead when it was all over. All I cared about was killing Cersei and I didn’t care if I died seeing it done. I think a part of me wanted to die finishing it.” Arya hears the way his breath catches at her statement, but she still can’t look at him. She knows she won’t be able to finish this if she does. “But then Daenerys attacked the city and Sandor told me to get out, to go home, and I-I ran. I ran like I always run. And when it was all over, when I failed so badly, I didn’t know how to go back to all those things I thought I wanted.”

“Then don’t go back.” Gendry squeezes her hands. “Go forward, with me, with us.”

“Gendry, you don’t know who I am, what I’ve done.” Arya finally looks up at him. “I’m not the girl you knew.”

He snorts and brings her hands to his lips, “Noticed that as soon as I saw you again.”

“I’m serious Gendry, the things that I’ve done-”

“So you’re telling that the woman who killed the Night King to save us all, isn’t the same girl that ran into a fire to save a bunch of killers trapped in a cage? Or fought Amory Lorch’s men after they killed Yoren?” He tugs on their joined hands, pulling her closer. “She’s not the girl that lied to Lorch’s men to save my life, even though any one of those men bound for the Night’s Watch could have called you out as a liar?”

“That’s not the same thing, Gendry, that was-”

“The same girl that killed a guard so we could escape Harrenhal? Or the one who tried to stab the Hound-”

“Don’t call him that,” she protests weakly, watching his quirk lips.

“You’re going to explain that to me someday, yeah?”

Arya nods, suddenly exhausted with fighting against something she knows, down deep, she truly wants. “Someday.”

“Someday,” his smile is blinding as he closes the space between them and kisses her. 

“That’s them!”

They jump apart and the door to the chamber slams open and Sandor barges in, dragging a frightened looking Septon behind him. “Marry them. Now.”

The voice in Arya’s head, the one that’s always told her to fight, everything from bedtimes to the Night King, raises its head in protest, but she silences it with a tilt of her head and raised eyebrow. 

Gendry’s smile is still wide and bright and she thinks maybe there are somethings there’s just no sense in fighting.

**Epilogue**

_“My Lord?”_

_ Gendry almost loses his grip on the hammer he’s holding as he turns to the entrance of the forge. “Yes.”_

_ A young boy stands in the doorway, looking nervous. “The Maester says come quickly, my Lord.”_

_ He drops his hammer, hurrying toward the main part of the Keep, and tries to reassure himself that the Maester would surely have come himself if the news was bad. _

_ Each step seems to take him further from his goal, the cold halls of the castle stretching endlessly ahead of him._

_ “Where is-” The boy is gone and when Gendry slows to look around, he realizes it’s too quiet. Storm’s End is cold and still around him._

_ A scream cuts through the silence and propels him into motion again, “Arya,” and he hurries his steps towards the Maester’s chambers. No matter where he turns, though, he never seems to get any closer. The halls around him growing colder and dimmer with each step, and the screaming growing louder._

_ And then it stops._

_ “No.” He tries to run faster. He can’t stop. He can’t stop. He has to reach- “ARY-”_

“-YA!” Gendry bolts upright in the bed, looking frantically around the silent chamber.

“What’s wrong?” Arya peers up at him, still half asleep. “Nightmare?”

“No,” he lies, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head, her forehead, working his way down to her lips. “It was nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“Liar,” but he can hear the love in her voice after all these years. “You always get like this.”

“I do not.” He rubs his hand over the swell of her belly and wills the nightmare away. “Just something I ate.”

“Liar,” she repeats and snuggles in next to him. “It’s been ten years, Gendry. Eddara and I are fine. All of our children safe and whole and here with us. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t know that.” He knows she thinks he’s pouting now, but he doesn’t care. She doesn’t know that. Even after Bran had warned them, he’d come so close to losing her when Eddara had been born. Ten years hadn’t been enough to erase the fear, anymore than the easy births that had followed.

“Yes, I do. Bran would tell us if there were something to worry about.”

“He didn’t tell us last time,” he grumbles, settling back down next to her.

“Twins aren’t that kind of problem,” she sighs into his neck.

“That’s because your brother doesn’t have to live with them,” he tries to scowl, but the bed is warm and Arya is safe next to him and maybe the twins are the kind of problem he likes to have.

“Go to sleep,” Arya commands, finding a way to snuggle even closer, despite the bulge of their babe between them. “Your daughter is going to be in here in just a few hours, demanding to go to petitions with me.”

“I can handle that, if you want to rest,” he presses another kiss to her forehead.

“No, it’s the only useful thing I can do, these days.” She pinches his arm and closes her eyes. “Sleep!”

“As m’lady commands.”


End file.
